You were always going to run, her father once said. Why hadn’t she run from this place?

The Beast slumped over the table. Eris did not trust herself to stay silent, clamping her hand over her mouth to stop herself from gasping. The white hot glow of his brands dulled into the familiar green before fading away completely. Blood seeped from the patterns on his arm. Her lungs burned for air.

With a deep breath, he stumbled to his feet, limping over to the front doors of the Great Hall. He looked up, studying the sculpture of Aeru for a long while.

“It’s disappearing,” he whispered, but the hall heard all. “Please…” He placed his hand on the doors, reaching as high as he could.

She found her answer in the brokenness of his body.

More Tempest and the Fire art, my Beauty and the Beast retelling.

India ink and acrylic. Digital adjustments on the left, unaltered traditional piece on the right.